But where were all her loyal and doting subjects when she needed them?
Hopefully someone would come to rescue her soon. She certainly couldn’t rejoin the party with her hair wild and tangled, and her bosom falling out.
Edgar stood at the edge of the Gold Salon, trying to pretend that he wasn’t holding his breath, waiting for Mari to enter the room.
Footmen carried trays of canapés by the talented Miss Martin. The cook had been worth the exorbitant fee Edgar had paid to steal her away from the Duchess of Attenborough.
It was a warm evening. The wine was flowing. Arguments could be heard breaking out among the learned guests. India had certainly sparked controversy.
Michel and Adele came racing toward him. “Father! Where have you been? We have so much to tell you.”
“That was a nice bit of palm waving.”
“Thank you,” said Adele.
“Wasn’t Miss Perkins regal?” asked Michel.
“Very regal, indeed.”
“Too regal to keep to yourself, Banksford,” said the Earl of Haddock, sliding into Edgar’s view. “Where did you find her? Some artist’s studio?”
Edgar glared at him. “She’s not an artist’s model, Haddock.”
“She’s our governess,” Michel said proudly.
“Your governess, sir?” exclaimed Haddock. “Well aren’t you the lucky little fellow.” He said the words to Michel, but his eyes were on Edgar.
“Excuse us, Haddock.” Edgar gave the odious fellow a curt nod.
Haddock slithered away.
“Why did that man say that Lady India’s speech was hogwash?” Adele asked, pointing at Ravenwood, who was arguing with India in a corner.
“He’s the man I was telling you about the other day, when you met Miss Martin and we had the French bread.”
“Well I don’t like him,” said Adele.
“Shall we go and rescue her?” asked Edgar.
As they approached, Edgar caught fragments of their conversation.
“Balderdash and bilge,” said Ravenwood. He towered over India, even though she was tall for a woman. “I always knew you were cracked in the head, Indy.”
“And I always knew you were a twenty-four-carat fool with shite for brains, Ravenwood.”
“Ahem,” said Edgar, breaking into the conversation.
Ravenwood and India turned simultaneously.
“May I borrow Lady India for a moment?” Edgar asked.
“Be my guest,” drawled Ravenwood. “And don’t bring her back.”
“That man,” India sputtered as Edgar steered her away from Ravenwood before someone got hurt. “That man.” She grasped the hilt of the dagger by her side. “I hate him with a red-hot passion.”
“Sure you do,” said Edgar.
“What?” asked India.